That You May Not Grieve As Others
by Thalion Estel
Summary: Wanda may know a lot about grief, but that neither lessens her pain nor makes her a confident comforter. However, a chance meeting with someone else battling the effects of sorrow illuminates a new perspective on how death can be viewed and grief processed. A one-shot inspired by true events.


**Author's Note: Hey, guys! Welcome to my fortieth story! :) While this tale takes place in the present, it is supposed to be pre-Civil War, so don't get confused. Also, I would like to say that although the meeting contained in this story is fictitious, the content of a certain person's words about their grief is completely genuine and was pulled from real life. I took no liberties with their statements or feelings whatsoever. Not everyone will agree, but then again, not everyone can process their grief the same way. This is how it happened in this case. I hope you all enjoy the tale; please don't forget to give me some feedback!**

 **. . .**

It had been a long week. The exhaustion wasn't truly a result of a lack of sleep, though that certainly could be a contributing factor. Rather, it was drain of the last few days' experiences themselves that made Wanda so eager to get a few minutes to herself. She would have preferred a physical battle with villains to the burden she and her teammates had borne.

The flight into Dallas, though not urgent or even necessary, had come with little warning. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision from Cap for a few members of the team to come down to Texas, and even though their presence didn't reverse the tragedy, Wanda knew it had been of some comfort. The state was reeling in horror and sorrow, and knowing that they had the Avengers there made people feel both cared for and further protected.

The problem was that Wanda was not confident in being a comforter. Five honorable policemen were dead, murdered in a hate-driven shooting, and what could she do to fix it? She had hugged countless civilians who attended memorial events, and she had given her condolences to many officers. But it didn't even feel genuine. She could not swallow her own pain, not to mention quench the sorrow of others.

The images flashed through her mind again as she pulled the rental car she was driving to a halt. The Avengers had arrived in Dallas after the shooting was already history, but she had seen the photos of the victims, and the wounds looked all too familiar. Bullet holes—the substance of her nightmares and the source of her anguish. So many bullets, ripping mercilessly through flesh and leaving only gaping holes behind, soon to fill with blood. Oh, why couldn't it have been her and not Pietro?

It all came back to him, didn't it? No matter how much time passed, all it took was a spark to ignite the memories and grief that followed Wanda wherever she went. There was always a void where Pietro should have been, and his absence never weighed any lighter on Wanda's mind. He was gone forever, but she could never let him go.

Wanda let out a shaky sigh, refraining from tears as she stepped out of the car and surveyed her surroundings. She had left the others at their hotel, driving a short ways to some trails in a wooded area. It was humid and hot as the sun's last light still lingered on the horizon, but Wanda didn't care. She wanted to get away from it all for a while, and this was the only place of retreat she could think of. Tucking the keys into her the pocket of her jeans, she started onto the concrete sidewalk and into the tunnel-like trail.

Cicadas buzzed loudly on all sides to signal the evening, and an occasional bird rustled in the tree limbs above. Otherwise, Wanda felt some sense of solitude, and she continued walking without keeping up the false expression of a smile. No one needed to be deceived here.

Wanda's grief didn't really express itself coherently. In the time since Pietro's death, she had already tried to console herself with all the excuses and comforts typically heard at funerals, but her soul did not listen to her mind. The sorrow she had was a feeling beyond the confines of language; it was simply _there_. It was aroused at the oddest moments, and when it lashed out, it often did so in ways Wanda could not control. Now, the beast was not raging, but it had been awakened from its slumber, and it seemed to be pacing back and forth in Wanda's heart.

A few stars appeared in the sky, barely visible beyond the canopy of braches. Wanda soon reached a quietly running creek with an iron bridge spanning across it, and there she paused and looked down at the water, no intentions or desires in her mind. She stood that way for more than ten minutes before she heard a sound from behind her, not from the trail, but from the trees beyond. She quickly turned about, instincts demanding that she be alert, but nothing emerged.

Wanda remained still as she listened to the noise, but after a moment of focusing on the sound, she realized that it was quiet sobbing. Her dark eyes scanned her surroundings, though they saw nothing in the dusk twilight. Taking a chance, she turned in the general direction of the sound and called out.

"Is someone there? Are you hurt?"

The crying stopped, and a tree about five yards off the path began to rustle. Wanda walked towards it slowly, her guard still up and alert. However, she soon realized she didn't need it. A figure of Wanda's same height dropped from one of the tree's lower branches to the ground, its lack of grace clearly evidence that no harm was intended. The person did not look up right away, likely out of anxiety as to Wanda's intentions, but Wanda could tell from the very long, brown hair that this was a young girl about her own age.

"Are you alright?" Wanda asked again, stepping nearer.

This time it seemed that the girl had a bit of realization as Wanda spoke, and she looked up with surprise. "You're the Scarlet Witch, aren't you?"

Wanda chuckled a bit, knowing her accent must have been the giveaway. "Yes," she answered. "But please call me Wanda."

The girl finally met Wanda's eyes, and even in the dull light, Wanda could see the streaks of tears on the girl's cheeks. She did seem to have control of herself though, and she managed a courteous smile as she took a step forward with her hand extended.

"I'm Estel," she said when Wanda shook her hand. "Sorry to bother you."

"No, I'm not bothered," Wanda assured her companion. She wasn't sure whether to pry into the girl's business, but then again, she could have been hurt by someone, and Wanda wanted to be of some help, even if she felt inept. Better safe than sorry.

"Is there something wrong?" Wanda ventured as calmly as she could. Immediately she hated her stupid question; of course there was something wrong! But Estel did not appear irritated by the question, though she was apparently conflicted about how she should be respond.

"It's…" she trailed off, swallowed hard, and continued, "…it's been a tough couple of days. The cops' deaths really hit home, you know. They were such good men, and I kind of feel a connection with them and their families. So the week was already hard. But…" she blinked hard and swallowed again. "One of my friends died today."

Another tear leaked from Estel's eye, and she turned her face away. "It's okay, really," she said after a moment. Wanda didn't buy it, feeling great pity on Estel's behalf, but the girl put on a very determined face and nodded to herself. "It really is okay," she said adamantly, though her lip still quivered.

"You don't have to be afraid of being sad," Wanda said, taking on the same persona she had used when speaking to the families and friends of the shooting victims.

Estel shook her head. "I know," she said, sniffing. "I'm out here to cry. But once I'm done, I won't do it again. I just need to let it out, feel the grief, and then move on."

Wanda gave a sad sigh. Her mind immediately manufactured the response _you can't just move on_ , but she didn't say it out loud. Her purpose right now was to be the comforter, not the one to douse a struggling person in the coldness of reality. She reached out and put her hand on Estel's shoulder. "You want to talk about it?" Wanda asked. "For some people, it helps."

Estel seemed conflicted, but she yielded with a nod and followed Wanda to a bench beside the path where both girls sat down. There was a brief silence at first, one which Wanda felt was oppressive yet too heavy for her to lift, and she was relieved when Estel finally opened up.

"I've had relatives die before," Estel said slowly. "But it was when I was much younger, and I didn't know those who died very well. Now, it's different. The boy who died was one of my best friends in elementary school. We didn't keep up much after that, but I really loved him. He was my age.

"The biggest thing about him was how happy he was. He was the class clown, the jokester, the comedian. He and I used to compete when we wrote stories for our creative writing class, and even now I sometimes go back and read his hilarious tales. He was a good friend, and reading about what he's been up to these past few years, I know he became an even more amazing person."

Estel let out a hollow laugh. "He condemns me, really. Every second of his life from before he was born, he lived in pain like I've never known. He had so many medical problems, and yet he was the most joyful person I think I've ever known. I wish I had known him better."

Wanda saw Pietro's face in her mind, and she nodded in sorrow. "I know what you mean," she said aloud, drawing a look from Estel.

"Your brother?" the girl inquired timidly. Wanda nodded and felt her throat constrict as tears threatened to surface, and she had to work hard to shut down her emotions. "I'm sorry," Estel said sadly. Wanda nodded again, still not making eye contact. Then, to her surprise, Estel scooted closer and then leaned back, looking up at the stars.

"What does your grief feel like?" Estel wondered audibly.

Wanda had never been asked that before, but only one word came to her mind as an answer. "Emptiness." Estel didn't respond to that statement, so Wanda leaned back as well and plucked up the courage to meet Estel's gaze again. "What about yours?"

Estel's brow furrowed. "It's nothing like I've ever felt before," she said. "I'm sad, but at the same time…" she trailed off as she searched for the right word. "I guess I'm just _confirmed_."

Wanda cocked her head slightly. "Confirmed?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

Estel shrugged. "I feel sorrow for my friend's family, for myself, and for anyone else who now doesn't have such a great companion. But there is a distinct feeling of peace there, too. I have always wondered what I would do when I went through the furnace, and here I am, fire blazing. But I'm not burning; I'm not doubting what I believe—not even in the slightest. Instead, it's like my faith is being proven or _confirmed_ because in the midst of it all, God is with me."

Wanda suppressed her first impulse to roll her eyes, wondering why this had suddenly turned into a Sunday school lesson. But Estel wasn't done. "It shows that I'm not alone," she continued. "There's no way I could be this content if God wasn't working on me. He has assured me that He is good, and this is His plan." Estel gave a real, genuine smile. "I was reading about the fallen officers yesterday, and one of the families put a Bible verse in the article. It's a blessing I read it; it came to my mind almost first thing when I heard the news about my friend. 'But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep".

Wanda looked over at her companion, who had fresh tears in her eyes. "He's not hurting anymore," she said, breathing deeply to keep herself from sobbing. "He's with the One he loved most. He's done with sin, with sadness, and with loss. And when the Resurrection comes, and when we see the new heavens and the new earth unfurled, he'll be there with me, worshiping the Risen One." Estel closed her sparkling eyes and laughed while she cried. "We have a steadfast hope because our God and King is alive! Jesus is alive!"

Wanda was baffled as Estel bent over and started crying into her hands. The girl acted like everything she was spouting out was something she had watched on the news, not a promise from an old book. But it was hard to deny that Estel had a kind of hope which survived the fires of grief, and that hope even produced joy amid sorrow.

"The Resurrection never meant so much until now," Estel mused after she had reigned herself in. She turned to Wanda and chuckled a little. "This is why everyone should study theology," she said with a smile.

Wanda smiled back, though her mind was swirling with things that needed time to be sorted out. It wasn't that Wanda suddenly felt the need to be religious, but she was confused by Estel's ability to cope so easily. The sorrow didn't seem fake, but neither did the joy. Oh, what Wanda what have given for that kind of peace.

"Should I walk you home?" Wanda asked, standing up. "It's pretty dark now."

Estel looked around, as if noticing the world for the first time. There was no trace of the sun now, but the moon's pale light streamed through the tree branches.

"No, thanks," Estel answered. "I live a couple blocks from the trail's outlet. I'll be fine."

Wanda nodded, and Estel seemed to get the general vibe, rising from the bench and setting her face on the path. "Thank you, Wanda," she said, surprising the Avenger with an unannounced hug. "I really do feel better."

"My pleasure," Wanda replied. "You've given me much to consider."

Estel beamed, but she modestly shook her head. "If it were just me, I'd have no hope to offer up for consideration."

Wanda frowned as she parted ways with Estel and made her way back to the rental car. She was covered in a thin layer of sweat, courtesy of the humidity, and the cicadas still chirped loudly on all sides. But Wanda seemed to be miles away, wondering what it was like to live in Estel's world, one where light shone in the darkness, and hope outshone even grief.

 **. . .**

 **Well, what'd ya think? It's not like what I usually write, but the peace I felt was so surreal that I had to make it known. At one of the funerals I've attended in the past few weeks, the pastor talked about how our faith is just a rope; the anchor is what matters. My faith didn't get me through my grief—it was the thing to which my faith is secured. Although I truly am comforted, I would ask that those of you who are willing please pray. One week after I lost my friend, a firefighter I knew from church—a guy who was engaged and had more than a half-dozen siblings, several of which are still very much kids—drowned in the lake where he normally works. His own team had to find his body; it was an awful day (but if you go watch the news report, you'll see how amazing and strong his family is despite it all). That is only one of the trials which have suddenly come up in the last few weeks, and it's a heavy load. So please pray for me, and also for the people who have lost family members or best friends. It's been a hard month, but God is good, and I truly am thankful for the opportunity to rely more on Him! Thank you guys so much for reading.**


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